


And My Soul Found You

by TheButterflySings



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, Sokovia, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7490244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheButterflySings/pseuds/TheButterflySings





	And My Soul Found You

For some people, it happened when they were twelve, some when they were in their mid-twenties, but somewhere along the line, everyone got one. It was called a Soul Mark, a mark on the left wrist that identified the person that was supposed to be your soulmate. They were always criptic as hell and never gave much of a real explanation on who the hell it was supposed to be, but when you met the person, you knew. Somehow, you always knew. Some people never found their soulmates, and that was okay, they could live normal lives and have happy relationships without, but once you did meet that person, it was nearly impossible to fall in love with anyone else.

Clint was forty-five and hadn't met his soulmate. He'd also been late to the party. He didn't obtain his Soul Mark until he was twenty-seven, and the damn thing didn't make sense. It was a circle, with a lightening bolt cutting diagonally down the middle, wider at the top and thinner at the bottom, from the top right to the bottom left. The left half of the circle was light blue, the right half darker blue. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it didn't fit Phil, Laura, Natasha, or Bobbi, all of whom he'd had happy relationships with-- even if they didn't last. He was okay not knowing his soulmate. He was having fun just sort of being. 

He did wonder what the mark said about his soulmate, though. Blue, probably a favorite color of some sort. Which didn't tell much more about the man or woman who it belonged to. A lightening bolt? Talk about vague. Clint hated Soul Marks for that very reason. They were never very explanatory, and it happened so often that no one actually had a clue what their mark meant, even after they met the person that it belonged to.

Everyone had thought that Natasha was Clint's soulmate, but the mark on her wrist-- A nuclear radiation symbol in green and yellow-- was proven to belong to Bruce Banner. Everyone knew it would never belong to Clint, and upon meeting Bruce and knowing about the Hulk and everything, Clint understood the symbol so much better. And the black circle with the red hourglass figure in the center of it that decorated Bruce's wrist most certainly belonged to Natasha. Clint wasn't jealous. He had known from day one Natasha /wasn't/ his soulmate. They were just friends, close friends, and Clint would be happy to attend the wedding when they finally got to that point. (Natasha had hit him when he told her that. It had been worth it.)

Clint wasn't sure if he'd ever meet his soulmate, but he also wasn't sure that he cared too much. If they met, cool, if they didn't... Well, Clint had had plenty of relationships before then. 

And then Sokovia happened.

While Sokovia was actually happening, Clint didn't think too much about the increased heart rate, the way the mark on his wrist burned, like it was being seared into his skin with a branding iron. He didn't think about what his brain and his mind were trying to tell him. Too much was going on far too fast, and he was trying to stay safe, trying to keep everyone else as safe as he could. Everything was falling apart faster than Clint could even think. There were the Maximoff twins, and between the quick little bastard and the manipulative little witch, Clint more than had his hands full. Even when they did change sides to help him. So the thought of soulmates? That wasn't too high on his list of priorities.

Until... 

Clint knew what was going to happen before it did. He saw the way the bullets were firing the second he picked up the kid to take back to the ship and back to safety. So, okay. He was okay with dying. He was pretty sure he'd prepared himself for it when he was like, three. So he braced himself, turned his back, and bent himself over the kid he was holding so the kid wouldn't take the impact of the bullets. And then there was a violent rush of wind, and he and the kid were both on the ship. 

Wide-eyed and stunned, Clint set the little boy down so he could return to his mother. And then he looked around, and his eyes caught the man standing just to the right of him. Quite honestly, the second it had happened, Clint thought he probably should have known. His silvery hair was tousled and windswept, and his eyes were electric blue. A half smirk curled on his lips, growing wider as he took in Clint's bemused expression. "What?" the kid asked in that pronounced accent of his. "You didn't see that coming?"

And Clint debated punching the kid or hugging him. But, really, he'd expected nothing less of Pietro Maximoff. 

Several things happened all at once. Clint's heart started beating about twenty times faster than it had been just a second before. The mark on his left wrist started to burn again. His throat tightened, and he suddenly felt light-headed in a way he was sure had nothing to do with the fact that he'd just almost died and been saved by a kid who could run faster than the speed of sound. And as Clint's mind was processing what all that meant, and he was cursing himself for it, because really, /Pietro/? The kid staggered and pitched forward. Before Clint registered moving, he'd caught the Sokovian boy in his arms and was propping him up. He didn't have to ask, because he could see the red stain that was spreading along the back of Pietro's suit.

"Shit. I've got you, kid," Clint murmured, and then raising his voice, "Hey! We need some help over here!"

It sort of all blurred together. He'd been shot three times in the back, but he was going to be okay, they thought. And Clint agreed, if Pietro's attitude was anything to go by. He continued to be loud and mouthy and cracking jokes. And Clint-- well, he wasn't going to complain. But he didn't step away from Pietro's side through the whole thing, and approximately five minutes into having the bullets taken out of the wounds, Pietro had grabbed the archer's hand and gripped it tightly. He didn't let go until all the wounds were cleaned and bandaged.

Once the doctor had walked away, Clint finally sat down beside Pietro, feeling all the exhaustion of the day weighing on his shoulders. He had to ask about it, but he didn't want to, didn't want to deal with it. He was ready to let it go, put it off until a better time. A time when he hadn't almost died and Pietro hadn't almost died trying to stop him from almost dying. He really hoped that part wouldn't remain a common thing in the future, but he suspected that it wasn't going to change too much.

"Is it nap time, old man?" Pietro began conversationally as Clint leaned back and allowed himself to relax, and Clint snorted.

"I think it's past your bedtime, kid."

Pietro laughed, and the sound tugged at Clint's heart a little bit. Full and warm and honest, and fuck. There was absolutely no doubt now. "I am not child," he answered simply. "And the old man is not so old." His fingers came up to close around Clint's left wrist, and Clint could have sworn he felt electricity current through his skin, but the feeling was quickly replaced by anxiety as Pietro's long fingers ran over the Soul Mark on his left wrist. As Clint watched, Pietro held out his own wrist to display the mark there.

The mark was faded, muted purple. A soft lilac, one of Clint's favorite colors. It was the form of a recurve bow with an arrow knocked, the outline of it looking exactly like the outline of the recurve bow that Clint used. He had no doubt that this mark was meant to be his. Pietro Maximoff was his soulmate. The thought made his head spin.

"I did not see that coming," Pietro murmured, his thumb stroking over Clint's mark again. 

"Do you wish it weren't me?" Clint asked in spite of himself. Pietro was a kid, twenty-two at the oldest. He had superspeed. He was cocky and had a flame that burnt far too bright to belong to someone like Clint. He was sure of himself and arrogant and he damn sure knew that he pissed people off, but he was apparently also brave and selfless, and with those blue eyes, he looked like an angel, and Clint was pretty sure he really, really didn't deserve that. He'd done not nearly enough good in his life.

"If I wished it to be someone else, I would not have risked death for you to live," Pietro replied quietly, tilting his head to stare at Clint with bright, piercing eyes, and Clint's heart did some sort of weird, twisty thing.

"You knew?"

"No," Pietro laughed. "But I had hope."

Clint's throat tightened. He had expected many things, but that wasn't one of them. Pietro had hope that Clint was his soulmate? But that, it really didn't make sense. Swallowing tightly and trying to make sense of what was happening, he moved his finger to run along the bow on Pietro's pale skin. "You hoped it was me?" he repeated, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

"I am... quite fond of you," came the younger man's answer, soft, but sure. "Do you wish I were to be someone else? You have many friends. Many of them look at you in such a way that I would think they felt strongly for you as well. Perhaps you wish it were any of them?" 

"I don't wish any of them were my soulmate," Clint responded instantly. "I'm satisfied with what I have."

Pietro's answering smile was blinding, and Clint couldn't help but lean closer to him and press their lips together firmly. Romance novel cliches aside-- fireworks and all that-- Clint felt something stirring. Fire in his veins, pulsing with every heartbeat. Want and happiness and a combination of so many things too extreme for Clint to name, and he enjoyed it all, loved every second of it, wanted more. But he didn't push it, because Pietro was injured. So he pulled back and let Pietro sleep. And within minutes, he was asleep right next to the boy, with Pietro's hand still curled around his wrist.

It would be Wanda and Natasha that happened upon the scene hours later, and Natasha just looked at the Sokovian girl with an eyebrow raised. Wanda shook her head and smiled faintly at her brother's sleeping form. "I did hope it would happen. Pietro spoke quite frequently of your archer. It was... quite a lot to listen to, I think."

"You don't mind that Clint is so many years older?"

"No." Wanda's smile was soft and secretive, and she turned away from the sleeping men, offering Natasha a shrug in answer. "To be truthful? I saw that coming."


End file.
